Of Myth and Legend (Revised and Rewritten)
by Harrypottersmystry
Summary: Fate couldn't just leave the magical world to suffer. Hermione Granger finds a magical book in the library; or rather, the book found her. The Trio uncovers the secrets of four young friends who lived centuries ago. Meanwhile, strange events lead to them finding the most unlikely of allies- not all of them on the right side. And what's all this fuss about Regulus Black? AU PoA.
1. The Book-That-Appeared

**I don't own it.  
**

Hermione sighed as she placed the last book onto the correct bookshelf. It was the day before they left for the summer holidays, and library rules demanded that she return her books before the year ended. Due to her Petrified state for most of the last term, she hadn't been able to finish reading them. Such a pity too; they were good books and she could have entertained herself with them during the holidays.

She wondered if there were any magical books to be found in muggles libraries; non-magical people did seem to excel at overlooking things out of the ordinary, even those that happened right in front of them, thoughtlessly casting away what their senses told them and putting what they saw down to overactive imagination, sleep deprivation or stress.

Abruptly, Hermione's musings came to a standstill as her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. A beautiful display of magic appeared to be taking place right in front of her on the previously empty wooden table. Hermione quickly glanced around; looking out for who or what, she didn't know. Madame Pince seemed to have left while she was absorbed in her thoughts.

Breathless, she watched as glistening threads of black and bronze, silver and gold came together in a most entrancing show of nature. Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the tendrils of magic left; leaving behind a heavily bound bundle of parchment.

Looking at it closely, Hermione realised it was a book. A fairly ancient one, and big enough to classify as a tome. Gingerly, she touched it. It certainly felt normal, and it definitely didn't look dangerous. Rather, it just looked like one of those artefacts one might find in a museum of ancient Roman or Greek history.

Carefully, she opened the book, pulling back the cover to reveal the first page. Stifling her reflexive gasp with the back of her hand, she quickly read the words printed on the aged golden-brown parchment...

OoO

Harry Potter stared at Hermione like he was seeing her for the first time. She had only ever been so full of nervous energy before exams or the numerous times she'd had to figure out the puzzle of who or what was causing the quickly-becoming-normal odd events at the school they attended.

He shifted his gaze to the large book Hermione had unceremoniously dropped in his lap. Hermione leaned over him to flip open the cover, and Ron moved so he was in a position to read what was on the first page.

 _'Listen to us, the four voices of unity!_

 _Learn of the old tales of yore!_

 _Of courage, wit, loyalty and cunning,_

 _Of sin and betrayal, of pride and prejudice;_

 _The fine lines between law and justice, innocence and corruption,_

 _Between Light and freedom, oppression and manipulation._

 _For a time of great peril shall arrive_

 _'A war,' most shall say, 'between light and dark'_

 _'A conspiracy, 'less shall believe, 'to obtain power'_

 _'A battle,' some shall think, 'carved by fate, and won with love'_

 _But heed our plea, these words from the founders four,_

 _To those who know both the price and prize,_

 _That come hand-in-hand with Victory_

 _Which seldom leads to peace._

 _Find the gems of unity,_

 _Rebuild old beliefs, and rise from the ashes!_

 _Depend not on authority, but on the soul_

 _Use the knowledge of books, spells from myths,_

 _Find the heirs of the first traits above_

 _Unite with friends, allies, think in shades of grey_

 _Form the army of Britannia, and lead it with strength!_

 _Let the emblem of the Phoenix, the flag of freedom fly free once more!'_

Ron stared at it with an expression that suggested that he'd finally accepted that life was just meant to be weird. He looked at his muggle-raised friends who were still engrossed in the strange text. He opened his mouth, surprising both them and himself with the somber tone of his voice.

"It's the Founders' prophecy, which is only mentioned in really old legends told to us by our parents, and it's supposed to be nothing more than a myth, or a bedtime story." He glanced at the book again, missing his friends' slack-jawed expressions.

"I suppose it's real then..."

OoO

"I wish I hadn't told you about the legend," said Ron grumpily, wrinkling his nose at the stench of stale blood and leaking pipes. He looked away from the corpse of the basilisk, suddenly unable to face the scene of his sister and best mate's near-deaths. His formerly rumbling stomach suddenly felt full of stones as he pushed down a growing feeling of nausea.

Hermione tore her wide eyes away from the carcass to glare at him. "This is the only logical place that can provide some sort of answer to this... this extract" She waved the copy she had made of the original first page in his face, forcing him to step back in slight alarm.

"But why here?" asked Harry, looking around the Chamber with ill-hidden distaste. "It's not like Slytherin was a person the other Founders would trust with a secret like this"

Hermione whirled around to face him. "The verses in the book mentioned the 'founders four', Harry. While we mustn't depend on the text alone, tell me, how much do we really know about the Founders? Apart from hearsay and the fact that they built this school with its houses and emblems? What were their interests, how they met, what led to their building this school?"

Then she continued, more softly, "History can be twisted by the victors and filled with hyperboles, Harry. You know that better than most"

Harry turned away from her to stare at the supposed statue of Salazar Slytherin. "Yes. I suppose I do"

"But Binns does not really help, you know," put in Ron defensively. "All he goes on about is goblins and their wars. And anyway, I wager he'd even make the school's founding sound boring"

Hermione, visibly restraining herself from launching into a speech about respect towards teachers, pulled them back to the subject at hand.

"This Chamber is the only known thing to have personally belonged to one of the Founders, and no one really thought it existed until fifty years ago, and it was truly confirmed only a few weeks ago. It is also nearly inaccessible. So, it's logical to assume we might find some clue here"

Ron sighed. "I'm really not in the mood for another near-death experience" Then, catching his friends' unwavering gazes, he sighed again. "Fine, then. Might as well have another adventure"

Under his breath he muttered, "It's not like we've already had our annual one or anything"

OoO

Two hours later found a disgruntled trio with growling bellies and bleary eyes.

"We're not going to get anything out of here," said Harry, looking disgusted. His upper lip curled slightly.

Ron just groaned from the corner he had slumped in. No one seemed to care about the stink and dirt by now. They were just about done.

"It's not like we ever get much at the first look," muttered Hermione, brushing some dirt off of her skirt. "Maybe we're just going about this the wrong way"

The boys just shot identical looks of mingled annoyance and exasperation at her as she started another minute examination of the book.

"These symbols," she said suddenly, getting her friends' attention. "What are these symbols?"

"Errr...um," said Harry intelligently as he stared at the cover of the book blankly. It was made of a tough leathery material and was bound and backed with what looked like iron.

"I know what those are!" burst out Ron suddenly. Harry and Hermione stared as his ears turned red and a surprised look passed over his freckled features.

"Well?"

"I'm not sure if I'm right, but- are you sure you don't..."

"Ron"

"Oh alright," sighed Ron, though Harry thought he looked more pleased than irritated. "They're runes. The library doesn't have an awful lot on them; what's there's only for the third years and above. Bill used to show me his before he went off to Egypt. It's a very difficult subject," he added unnecessarily.

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "And it's the end of term. We'll never be able to solve this"

Caught off guard by her distraught expression, Harry glanced helplessly at Ron. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Maybe... maybe I can ask Percy and Bill for you... I'm sure there's a library near the Burrow too..."

"Don't muggles have runes too?" asked Harry, frowning. "I remember my old history teacher talking about them".

Ron looked bemused. "How'd they hear about them?"

Before Harry could answer, Hermione butted in. "I think we should all go home and do some research. Ron, are all your brothers- and Ginny- trustworthy?"

Ron looked indignant. "Why, of course they are! What do you-?"

Harry quickly intervened. "She means, can they keep a secret?"

"Oh," Ron blinked, looking slightly sheepish. "Yes, they can"

"Brilliant," said Harry. "Tell all of them about this, and take the book with you to prove it. Maybe you can come up with something to get away to the library for a bit. And we'll send our research too," he added hastily as Ron's face turned sour at the thought of more work during the holidays. Ron accepted the book from Hermione with a slightly glum expression.

"I hope they'll believe me," he mumbled, looking down at the book. He had a feeling that it would become a catalyst for disaster…


	2. The Unpredictability of Wizardkind

**I'm a beast for taking this long. Can't promise to be less sporadic though.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own this.**

* * *

He stood in front of the mirror, straightening his tie one last time. Brown hair combed back, white shirt tucked into his pants, a glimmer of mischief still present in his eyes. Sebastian quirked an eyebrow at his reflection and left to get his bag. It was time to return; time to finally go back home.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his long nose, feeling a dull ache throb in his forehead. It was evening at Hogwarts, and the sun was casting a red glow over the grounds and lake, illuminating the castle with its dying rays. It had been a long week, and a bewildering one.

Dumbledore had gotten out of bed the first day hoping to spend most of it outside and therefore abandon his overdue reports for a little while longer, but had instead been interrupted in the middle of his breakfast by a frazzled Professor Sinistra, who had proceeded to outline some extremely unusual and horribly worrying changes in the History classroom. Professor Binns was moving out.

The old ghost had refused to give him an explanation, stating that it was his business and his business alone, before picking up his tailcoat and retreating to the library. He had given Madam Pince an awful fright before settling down near the Restricted Section. Dumbledore had a feeling no more books would be stolen from that section for a while now.

All of that had sent McGonagall into a blinding rage and later, into a confused state of panic. It was extremely difficult to find History teachers, as most graduates of Hogwarts did not take the subject for NEWTs and fewer passed. Those that had did not want to teach History at Hogwarts or were unable to for various reasons. It was very frustrating and the pile of paperwork on Dumbledore's desk just seemed to keep growing.

There was only one applicant. A man by the name of Sebastian Stan had answered the ad they had published in the Daily Prophet after three days and had asked for an interview with him that afternoon. Exhausted, and somewhat desperate for a solution to the problem, Dumbledore had agreed; after postponing the meeting till six o' clock. He simply needed to stop and drink some tea. History teachers could wait; he had to preserve his remaining sanity.

A knock sounded on the door following a distant grinding sound from the gargoyle. A murmur of voices came from outside; McGonagall's, and the unfamiliar tone of the prospective History teacher. Dumbledore put his glasses back on his nose and called them in with a welcoming nod. He looked curiously at the newcomer, feeling several questions bubble up in his throat as he walked in.

The man was tall, with a shock of brown hair and a cheery smile. He held out his hand to Dumbledore as he stood up, and as he shook it, Dumbledore couldn't help but feel the raised skin of many old scars. He wondered what a man like Stan might have done to have gotten them. With a smile, he asked him to sit down.

The man was pleasant. He seemed fairly ordinary. A little _too_ ordinary to be honest. Perhaps it would do the students some good, thought Dumbledore, tiredly. They needed a little normal. Aloud he said,

"Your qualifications are impressive, Mr. Stan. You might just improve our students' grades in History. And I admit, if we had not already hired a Defense Professor, I would almost definitely have hired you"

"Then who would have taught History?" wondered Stan out loud, eyes green in the candlelight of Dumbledore's desk. He clasped his hands in his lap. "I'd like to settle in today if it's all the same to you. I'm afraid my landlady is on her last tether with me"

"Why is that?" asked Dumbledore, white eyebrows raised.

Professor Stan chuckled. "Something about having too many guests and far too much furniture. I can assure you that that won't be a problem here"

"I certainly hope not, Professor," said Dumbledore, nodding. He sent a note to his Deputy with a blaze of phoenix fire, noting the man's strange lack of reaction. "I would advise you to stay clear of Mr. Filch. He's the caretaker, and somehow I don't think you two will get along very well"

"If he's anything like my former landlady, you can be sure we won't," muttered the man darkly, just as McGonagall walked through the door. Her eyes surveyed the room, and Dumbledore could see the moment she decided to welcome the man into the staff.

Near the fireplace, Fawkes watched them with beady eyes. His feathers were ruffled and his wings were folded by his sides like a gleaming red cloak. A change was coming and it would start with the arrival of this new teacher. With a shrill cry, the phoenix disappeared in a burst of flames and the slightest wisp of smoke, leaving behind a single golden feather.

* * *

The Ministry approved syllabus, in Sebastian's loud opinion, was a list of dates and boring people whose names they expected the students to memorize and vomit up at the exams before forgetting everything they had learnt.

"Tell me, which one of you actually _knows_ who took part in the Battle of the Hollow?" he asked the teachers one day, carefully stabbing a potato slice with the end of his knife. McGonagall looked at it in distaste while Pomona Sprout looked interested. "There was a battle at the _Hollow_? As in, _Godric's Hollow?_ "

Sebastian sighed and lifted the knife (with the potato still impaled) to point at the air in front of him. "Godric's Hollow was ruled by the Gryffindor family the whole of the 10th century and well into the 11th before it was overthrown by its disowned heir. You know" he said casually, "Godric. The man who built _this_ " He waved his knife at the Gryffindor table, nearly dropping the potato on the floor.

"Godric was- _disowned?_ " McGonagall stuttered in utter shock and betrayal, her attention finally snatched away from Sebastian's appalling use of cutlery. "No he _wasn't_ "

"Yes he _was_ ," countered Sebastian, putting the knife back down on his plate and forgetting about the potato. "The Battle of the Hollow was the last battle where Godric fought on the side of his parents. He left soon after, overwhelmed by the bigotry of his elders and saddened by the plight of the widows and orphans left behind by soldiers on both sides. He was barely nineteen"

Albus Dumbledore was listening to his narration closely. "What happened after that?" he asked when Sebastian stopped. The History teacher stood up and grimly dusted off the lint on his shirtsleeve. "I have work to do," he said making the staff groan in displeasure. The man had an annoying habit of leaving at the most important part of any story, whether or not it was told by him. "The students are arriving in two days," he reminded them. "We have to get back to our paperwork. If you are really so interested, you're welcome to join the students during my first lesson"

Sebastian had worked out a plan where the lower three grades were taught at the same time by him, the fourth and fifth years were taught together another day and the sixth and seventh years another day. However, as no one in the _staff_ seemed to know even the basics, it was obvious that all the students needed some catching up to do. Therefore, he had agreed to have a joint lesson with the whole school in the Great Hall after the first day.

Dumbledore had noticed that Sebastian was only barely following the 'recommended' guidelines for history syllabuses when making his lesson plan. The headmaster had said nothing, partly because the blatant defiance of government authority had impressed him and partly because _he had no idea what the professor was talking about_. At first he'd wondered whether the man was reading the _Quibbler_ , but after being presented with a number of authentic documents and fairly renowned textbooks and being subjected to a very long and yet somewhat interesting rant about _misinformation_ , Dumbledore was quite convinced that the new History teacher was both brilliant and confusing.

Confusing teachers seemed to be what made up his entire life now, reflected Dumbledore, his thoughts drifting towards the other new professor in the staff. Remus Lupin was the new Defense Professor, and his new attitude had thrown everyone who'd known him off. The man had never been the most self-confident, or the best dressed person in the room, but it seemed that now, what had been there was also gone. At least that was what it had looked like until Remus walked up to him and presented his lesson plan. Turned out the werewolf still had plenty of tricks up his worn sleeve, as the syllabus was not something one would expect from someone basically on the run for over a decade. The children's atrocious past Defense lessons would be made up for.

Lupin stood firm on his stance of not using the Whomping Willow during his monthly transformation. "Children will always be sneaking out," he said. "You remember what happened with Severus that year." Dumbledore did remember. He remembered very well. Sirius Black had been the conspirator then, the cruelty of that one trick washing out the good intent behind his other pranks. The staff had never thought the same of him again, and neither had Dumbledore, not until he'd joined the Order and _killed_ to save James.

Perhaps Sirius had been forced to talk that Halloween Night, maybe it wasn't all his fault. This was the thought that had haunted Dumbledore ever since he'd witnessed Sirius being dragged away by aurors under Barty Crouch's order. The screams of the doomed man still rang in his ears, even louder since the news of his escape was plastered all over the country, on Muggle shop windows, and Diagon Alley's famous wall. Sirius had had a deranged charm, he supposed, one that made his former friends still think of him as though there was still some good left in him.

Not Remus Lupin, however, thought Dumbledore, remembering the hard steel in his blue eyes and the stern set of his jaw. Remus would never forgive him for breaking his heart, for leaving him running for so long in the wild. The mention of the man's name brought the werewolf's shields slamming up, leaving his warm face shuttered and blank. No, Remus would never forget how Sirius had been the one to destroy his hard-earned family, while simultaneously being the reason it had existed in the first place.

Sometimes love was not enough.

Dumbledore turned his attention back to the man standing patiently in front of him now, and gave the incriminating syllabus back to him. He smiled warmly, displaying none of his dark thoughts. The corners of Remus's lips twitched in reply and he left the room, his feet padding softly down the spiral staircase like a dog's. For the umpteenth time that week _(month, year, decade)_ , Dumbledore sighed out loud.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly down on Platform 9 ¾ as the train puffed in, the sound of children cheering and parents yelling drowned out by the loud 'Choo-Choo!' of the steam engine. Robed students filed in and came out almost instantly, not wanting to spend their last few minutes away from their families. Owls screeched and hooted, wanting to get out of their cages and away from daylight. Cats growled at the mice and toads running and hopping around.

Harry Potter leaned his head against the cool glass of the carriage window, letting his eyes fall closed. The chaos that the journey to Hogwarts inspired every year barely affected him. Perhaps a year ago or two ago he would have thought about joining it and contributing to the general noise and merriment, but his mind was too preoccupied with the events that were brought back to memory by the sight of the Express. Hermione's face, fixed with an expression of nervous anticipation, filled his mind before giving way to the sight of Ron's wide eyes and curious, clutching fingers as he thumbed the precious book…

He opened his eyes at the sound of a knock on the door. He shot a suspicious glance at the figure visibly silhouetted on the other before giving in and opening it. He came face to face with Anthony Goldstein. The boy shot a curious glance at Harry's nose, which was almost grazing his left cheek. He looked up to meet Harry's eyes, and thrust an ink-stained hand towards him. "I'm Anthony," he said, mistakenly thinking that Harry didn't know who he was. "Is it alright if I sit here? My compartment is full of idiots"

Despite his light tone, Harry could see the darkening of his expression, hear the emphasis he put on the last word. With a welcoming smile, Harry waved him in and shut the door. He sat down on the seat opposite him, quickly casting an assessing glance over Anthony's blue robes and comfortable-looking suede shoes. No one had hurt him in the physical sense at least.

"What happened?" he asked. "Ravenclaws don't usually sit with Gryffindors if they can help it."

Anthony gave him a wan smile. "And Gryffindors usually put down our irritation and exhaustion to studying too much."

It was true. The Houses made too many assumptions about each other. Ravenclaws were humans too. Humans were unpredictable creatures. Harry couldn't imagine that all of them were the same. Rowena Ravenclaw had prized creativity, after all.

"What are you pissed about then?"

Anthony cast a sidelong look at him. "I told you," he said. "They were all _idiots_ "

"There are many different kinds of idiots," said Harry. Anthony was silent. He turned his head to look out of the window for a brief moment, and then turned back. "My parents are Jewish," he said. "Those people there, their grandparents were followers of Grindelwald"

"Who?" Harry asked. Anthony looked at him in shock. " _Grindelwald_ ," he pronounced with a growing tone of horror. "Dear God, don't tell me you've never heard of _Grindelwald_. He was one of the worst- or best I suppose- dark wizards of the twentieth century. Even worse than Voldemort, if you can imagine that."

"I can't," said Harry, faintly. "I always thought Voldemort was the most powerful dark lord ever"

Anthony scoffed. "Don't believe everything you hear. People have forgotten how Grindelwald's influence spread across _Europe_. Voldemort never went beyond the UK. I didn't occur to him. Grindelwald helped cause the Holocaust."

"What happened to him?"

"He was defeated by Albus Dumbledore shortly before Hitler committed suicide. He's still alive by the way; lives in the tower of Nurmengard, where he used to imprison Jews and Muggles who had displeased him." Harry shivered. There was something unpleasant about the word 'displeased' in this context.

"I never knew"

"Of course not," said Anthony, bitterly. "Binns doesn't teach us anything that _matters_. Then again," he added suddenly, "maybe he thinks it doesn't…"

"Of course it matters!" exclaimed Harry suddenly, surprised by his own ferocity. "I don't give a damn about what Binns thinks, and neither should you. He's just an old ghost who doesn't know how to stop teaching and can't speak a word that isn't about goblin wars."

Anthony stared at him silently, his eyes intense and unreadable. He changed the topic suddenly. Somewhat. "I heard we're getting a new History teacher."

"We are?" Harry said, surprised. "Well, this term should be interesting"

Anthony smiled at him, eyes bright and amused once more. "With you around, Potter, how could it not?"


End file.
